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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22721254">A Cage for Humankind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Without/pseuds/Without'>Without</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gods Will Be Watching</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, I take beehive metaphors way too far, Liam considers Shaman a brother or a friend, Liam is a miserable Space Princess with a propensity for violence, Trans Male Character, but Shaman begrudgingly begins to think of Liam as his son</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:54:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,969</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22721254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Without/pseuds/Without</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped at the bottom of a man-made planet, the last survivor of the Op'Mahun has a fateful encounter that will decide the fate of one million million lives.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. All of Them</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>You ever write something so far removed from canon that it might as well not be fanfiction? Well, here it is, anyway. This is what happens when you take a throwaway line of dialogue way too seriously.</p><p>Thankfully no one is going to read this, except maybe Deconstructeam, after which I'll have to make a plea deal with the state for committing crimes against canon and probably get placed in the witness protection program.</p><p>Anyway, do comment if you did decide to read it; it would be interesting to see if there are people still out there who, like me, are still helplessly in love with this game.</p><p>Warnings for genocide, fantastical racism, dysphoria, mentions of reproductive slavery, mentions of menstruation, and for characters unintentionally misgendering a transgender child as well as using his birth name before he receives his true name. </p><p>Also, Caoimhe is pronounced "Kiva," to save you a google.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The distant crunch of boots beating against snow grew louder as the soldiers closed in on the Shamanic temple. Within, a still silence erupted among the last of the survivors - the weeping squeaks of their children drowning in one sustained, horrified gasp. The Op'Mahun were not the kind to design locks on their doors, to turn away a brother in need of shelter. Today, that virtue would kill the last of their species. Stealing one last look at the oncoming army through a sliver of light, Darevan pushed the sliding door back into place and rounded on the Head Shaman.</p><p>"Tigde'nai," he whispered breathlessly, "We need to go. If we make a break for it into the woods, they might not shoot all of us."</p><p>He may as well have been talking to stone. Though dozens of red, multifaceted eyes stared at him, not one of them looked to him in agreement. He had no choice but to try again, fists balled tightly to prevent himself from shaking.</p><p>This was a different, more desperate tack, knowing they were rapidly running out of time. "<em>Father</em>. I am <em>begging</em> you." He had not called out to the man so hopelessly in two decades, not since he was a sickly child burying himself in his wings for comfort. Darevan started forward and tugged the fur around his father's thorax now, using all of his meager human strength to try and drag him to the rear of the tent. The Head Shaman, in his enormity, did not move.</p><p>The sole human Op'Mahun was at a complete loss. Surely, his father must love him - he had raised him since birth, since his human parents' fatal marooning on their planet. How, then, was he not convinced? Why would he put him through the humiliation of begging to save their lives? He could not understand it.</p><p>Finally Tigde'nai began to stir, raising a thin, feathery appendage to the skull rosary around his neck - and scratching a long, horizontal groove into the next blank bead in the sequence. Darevan's heart hammered in his chest, pumping ice-cold blood through his body. This was the glyph that meant "dead end," the mark that made their abandonment of this universe final.</p><p>Then Tigde'nai lifted the rosary from around his neck and lowered it carefully down around his son's. In the next motion, his father wrapped his arms around Darevan, pulling him tightly to his thorax.</p><p>"Darevan," His father's voice was impossibly calm in the face of death, "you are human. They will spare you if we do not run. I have seen it."</p><p>Darevan was already shaking his head before his father had finished the sentence, writhing from his grasp as though the refusal to bid him goodbye would change the inevitable.</p><p>Once again, his father was not moved. "Listen to me. I will be with you in a million million other lives-" the Shaman promises him, but that promise is so empty, because it doesn't manage to matter at all to him in this one, "but I can not come back to you here, my son."</p><p>Head pressed to the feathery fur on his chest, Darevan shook his head wildly, as though struggling to break free, though his hands clutched dearly at whatever they could grasp. <em>"Don't.</em> Please. <em>Please-</em>" Begging does not suit a man his age and status, but he cannot stop himself. His human body prevented him from traversing through time like the rest of his kind, and every passing second spent down his last moment with his family. "I can't. I'd rather die here. With you-"</p><p>His father pushed him away and he stared at him with unblinking eyes, taking in his son for the last time in this doomed rhizome of the universe. "You cannot do that," he stated plainly. "Even this life will matter, Darevan. <em>Especially</em> this life." His father's gentle touch lifted his chin, smoothed back his hair the way he'd once done to soothe him to sleep as a boy. "<em>Dunahrai</em>, my son. So many depend on you, even if you cannot see it now. You must do everything to live."</p><p>Darevan wanted to scream, to fight him, to make him take everything back. But in the next instant, the door to the temple was thrown open.</p><p>
  <em>"On your knees!"</em>
</p><p>Aliens who did not submit to enslavement did not get second chances. The Op'mahun had been given theirs and now the soldiers were talking to him. The soldiers were talking <em>only</em> to him.</p><p>Tigde'nai beheld the invaders as though they were his guests, his ancient but ageless wings glittering as he turned his back on his son with finality. The muzzle of a gun was pressed against the elder's throat; Darevan watched the soldier's finger tense - and suddenly there was a cauterized hole through his father's neck, cutting the air from his brain, dropping him to his knees. Darevan screamed, in the grip of white hot hatred only a human was capable of knowing-</p><p>Then the butt of a soldier's gun hit him so hard he could no longer resist his arrest.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was against Federation law to keep a human slave, but the law was purposefully ambiguous for half-breeds. Though Darevan was a full-blooded human, the soldiers did not look charitably upon his Op'Mahun heritage. Too human to die, but too alien to live free, Darevan lost track of how many hands he changed before arriving at M83-001.</p><p>M83-001 was what Darevan would later hear referred to as a 'techno-hive' of a planet; a filthy, man-made world without a hint of organic life, save for the humans who colonized it. These humans interfaced with their artificial environment via neural implants, their brains equal parts biomatter and tech. There was not a thing in the Hive that did not cost money, from clean air intake to the right to exist in its spaces. Each sector was ruled by the company whose products sold best, and the world had been split into maps fought over by ruthless corporations who routinely decided which essential-for-life product to upcharge to maintain their iron grip.</p><p>For a penniless man like Darevan, to be dumped in the deep of M83-001 and offered a job with no alternative was not different than being sold into slavery.</p><p>More curious than its ruthless capitalism was its government; tied to each company was a family of businesswomen and men who served their sector as leaders and figureheads. The oligarchal system had done away with all pretense of meritocracy, and referred to their leaders as aristocrats - as in other capitalist worlds, princes and princesses tended to inherit their families' businesses, and became Kings and Queens of their sector to distinguish them from leaders of other successful, but not ruling, companies.</p><p>Historically, though not exclusively, the young men of such families married into other royal families and exerted their influence laterally, while their sisters sat the throne of their home sector and commanded from there. The Queen of the wealthiest company was often referred to as the Hive Queen, and held special power and influence over the the world, such as the authority over relations with other planets. But the Hive Queen herself never left the comfort of her palace - primarily for her protection against fifteen billion of her miserable subjects that would riot at the sight of her.</p><p>This background became the toxic radiation around which Darevan lived his life after being forced into the Hive Queen's employ.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>A guard tells him he is allowed to keep whatever belongings he has in his pockets, though he makes him strip inside an interrogation room, inspecting each of his possessions in turn.</p><p>Ultimately, his canister of white clay, his rosary, and his patterned shirt and pants are returned to him through a slot in a window - in addition to a simple cream-coloured uniform to wear during work hours. His fruit knife, jewelry, embroidered cloak, belt, and scented oils disappear into a black bag on the other side of the glass. He knows at once he will not see them again.</p><p>The guard turns his Eyes over in his hands with a blank expression. "You can keep this in your quarters," he decides, "but Her Majesty does not allow eyeglasses in her court. Do not show up to her summons with them." </p><p>Darevan does not speak, but stares hard into the guard's steely expression, waiting for elaboration. It does not come.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Darevan had expected the ruler of all such a gargantuan sector to be a wise old matron, and was shocked to discover that Queen Maeve could not have been much older than him, if at all. Approaching the clean, titanium-white throne, raised high on a series of tall steps, the Hive Queen barely acknowledged his presence, looking down at him through the corner of computer-screen-blue eyes. Her hair was naturally the colour of gold as though engineered to be so, and her wealth had kept her olive-toned skin extraordinarily young for a mother of nine. She wore an empire-waisted white dress, undoubtedly that colour to emphasize the cleanliness of her Palace. Though Darevan could see that she must be pregnant, the King-consort of the Hive was nowhere to be seen; he would eventually prove to be such a non-presence that Darevan would never meet him.</p><p>Maeve's hand lifted to barely conceal her disgusted expression, the Hive Queen's laughter was equal parts amused and bewildered. "<em>My</em>. What in the <em>Gods' name</em> is it you have on your face?" Her voice relayed cruelty with such precision that Darevan knew she had been taught to speak that way since birth.</p><p>Darevan bit down against every instinct that urged him to bark back at her, diverting his gaze to her feet to stop himself from lunging at her smug face.</p><p>"Is it that your alien upbringing has made you too stupid to speak," she continued, speaking as she might have observed the weather, if her planet had had a climate to begin with, "or are you just stubborn?" The scowl that spreads across Darevan's face answered for him, and the Queen smirked, triumphant. "I see. So you do understand me. Certainly, you must realize your situation?"</p><p>Darevan looked away.</p><p>"Ah. So you don't care." The Queen lowered her arm from her face, rested one hand on her slightly swollen belly. "Well, I assure you that you will find it quite difficult to kill yourself. You are in my service, and I make a habit of ensuring that my Palace keeps everyone in it quite safe."The Queen smirked, having managed to make even a statement of security sound like a threat.</p><p>Darevan wanted nothing more than to die, but the only thing he had left of his father was a promise to him that he hadn't even had the time to swear. He had no choice but to live. "That isn't going to happen," he answered plainly.</p><p>"It talks!" The Queen laughed with renewed wickedness. "Alright, then state your name,"</p><p>Darevan hesitated.Op'Mahun did not greet eachother by name; that was, they did not greet eachother by name so casually. Names gave one power over the other, left their meaning malleable in their hands, and were not surrendered to strangers. Instead, one might address an acquaintance by a formality, or a title.</p><p>"I was the Apprentice Shaman to the head of my clan among the Op'Mahun," Darevan offered instead.</p><p>"Okay?" Maeve was unimpressed.</p><p>"So you may call me Shaman," he made clear.</p><p>Maeve rolled her eyes, but ultimately complied. "Well, Shaman, I'm in need of a servant, for myself and my daughter - and you are in need of a job, I'm told." She had begun to grow tired of this distraction, and averted her gaze to make this plain. "You'll start serving my daughter tomorrow. Make even the slightest move to touch her and the guards will shoot you where you stand. If you do well enough, you'll move to my personal service and enjoy all the freedoms and privileges that comes with. I think that is more than generous of me to offer an alien refugee," she hummed, satisfied with herself.</p><p>Then she looked back again, her cold gaze staring through him. "You can handle a twelve year old girl, certainly?"</p><p>Darevan made a sort of noncommittal shrug in response. He did not have much of a choice but to.</p><p>Maeve tilted her head as though coming to a decision. Eventually, she nodded. "Your facepaint amuses me. You may wear it," Maeve declared with a dismissive flick of her wrist, "But the next time I see you wear those glasses, I will crush them beneath my heel. Am I understood?" Darevan did not answer, and the guard pulled him away.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Darevan was not a good listener. As it turned out, he could not bring himself to go outside without his Eyes, make direct eye contact with other men as though they were the same species. The semi-reflective surface of the glasses were a great comfort to him, and while he reluctantly wore his wingless uniform, he showed up to Princess Caoimhe's chambers with his Eyes firmly on his face.</p><p>There were a couple of important details that Darevan would later come to learn about the one called Princess Caoimhe, heir apparent to the throne of the Hive Queen. The first was that his gender was male. The second was that his violent streak preceded him, and that the Queen might have been trying to intervene for Darevan's protection, had she been more transparent about the reason for her rules.</p><p>When Darevan crossed through the door with the guards and set eyes upon the Princess, his first impulse was to think that he was the Queen's sister, for there was no way that Maeve was old enough to have an adult child. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that the youth was merely painted up like a woman: his eyeline was darkened with traces of smudged makeup; young features contoured into sharp angles with bronzer, foundation and rouge; his lips were stained an inappropriate shade of red. Darevan caught him just as he was scrubbing his lips with a white cloth, almost in the way a woman might remove excess lipstick, if the makeup had shown any sign of coming off. As the Princess turned, he may have caught Darevan's eye through his glasses for all of one instant. In what Darevan had time to observe, it was like looking at a clone of Queen Maeve. His yellow-gold hair was pulled back into a high fall, and a chunky circlet of contrasting titanium sat like laurels on his temples and ran 'round the back of his head, LEDs encased in domes of clear rubies, marking the luxury of his neuroimplant.</p><p>Then the boy shot up to stand on his bare feet and dove towards him, shifting with practised haste through layers of long fabric.</p><p>A guard yanked Darevan back as he registered the attack, but Caoimhe's reflexes were faster; he reached up to pluck his Eyes from Darevan's face, the red glass unhooking from his ears and coming away in one fluid motion. As Caoimhe leapt back, his fists closed tightly around them and Darevan heard a crunch - then both guards crashed down upon the Princess, bringing him to the floor faster than falling. Caoimhe hit the ground back-first with a winded grunt, and one guard pressed one knee against his throat and settled the rest of his weight upon the child's chest.</p><p><em>"Open your hand!"</em> one of them screamed. Caoimhe did not comply, even as he struggled to draw breath, so the other forcefully peeled his small white-knuckled hand open. Blood streamed from the centre of his palm, the bright color exactly the same as the glittering, shattered facets of Darevan's Eyes. The guard began to scrub the fragments of embedded glass from his skin, and one of the last souvenirs of Darevan's identity fell in pieces to the floor. One particularly large and jagged shard slipped from Caoimhe's grip - the guard crushed it to dust with the butt of his pistol, and then released his prisoner, who heaved and coughed like he'd been pulled from water.</p><p>The guard could not leave a mark upon the Princess' face, so he redirected his rage upon Darevan, backhand catching him hard on the chin. He could not brace in time to stop himself from biting his tongue, and blood trickled readily down the left side of his mouth.</p><p>"You're lucky I don't shoot you," he roared, pushing Darevan up against the wall. "Didn't the Queen tell you not to wear those?"</p><p>Darevan knew better than to admit to the fact that she had.</p><p>"This never happened," the guard bellowed, gesturing at Caoimhe's wound, and those were terms that Darevan felt were agreeable. "Do you understand?" The servant nodded.</p><p>Caoimhe did not speak to Darevan that day, but sat across the room glaring miserably at him, eyes dark with bitter disappointment. Darevan thought that the spoiled brat had wounded him far worse than the short sting of disappointment from some foiled plot, though he could not say so.</p><p> </p><p>That night, upon returning to his spartan dwelling in the bowels of the Palace, Darevan separated out one third of his clay. Upon rising, he washed the old paint from his face, bit down hard against his thumb, and pressed it against a portion of the separated white pigment. Blood mixed with bone-white clay quickly faded to brown, creating far too dull a substitute for his crimson, glittering Eyes - but he gathered it up in his fingertips and slid the pigment along the skin below his brow bone until he had painted the shape of them on his eyelids. It was better than nothing.</p><p>He stared <em>hard</em> into the mirror at his almost naked face and wondered what he could possibly find in this universe that his father would have wanted him to live for.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Scholar of Paths</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Darevan settles into his new role.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning for accidental misgendering by characters who are not aware they have done so.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Darevan returned to work the next day to exchange shifts with the other chamber servant, he found Caoimhe in the middle of his lessons - or, rather, he found Caoimhe's tutor in the middle of her lecture and the boy somewhere else, staring off into space in agonized boredom. The boy was running his thumb absently over his bandaged palm, and Darevan could not help but feel some satisfaction for his discomfort. He'd gotten far less than he deserved, even.</p><p>The tutor droned on about basic concepts in economics while Caoimhe stared lifelessly at the wall. Eventually, the tutor handed Caoimhe a tablet and left, leaving only the Princess, Darevan and two guards in the mostly empty chamber. 

</p><p>Darevan took the lull in the events as an opportunity to scan his eyes across the room. Unlike the restrictive, tight spaces he had been made to traverse through on his way to the heart of the hive, the Princess' chambers had a high ceiling and plenty of unused floor space. The ground was carved from a single slab of cold marble, which separated into textures of hexagonal cells once it met the wall. Darevan presumed this would make for rather comfortable living if not for its emptiness - the expansive room had little more than a bed, a beside table, a monitor and mirror set flush into the walls, and a desk with no writing instruments. It seemed the Princess was not given the luxury of choosing his own clothes, for there was no closet or cabinet to speak of.</p><p>After ample time to take everything in several times over, Darevan heard Caoimhe push the tablet aside. The boy then turned around to face the wall where his entourage waited to serve him.</p><p>"You," the child's voice was much like Maeve's, expecting to have Darevan's attention immediately. "You're from another planet, right?"</p><p>Darevan did not meet the boy's eyes. If he would destroy his sight, then he would reap the reward. "Clearly," he mumbled.</p><p>He expected the boy to lecture him about respect, or some other etiquette that let him pretend his life was somehow more important than others. But instead the child hesitated, as though thinking something through, though Darevan could not see his face.</p><p>"Were those glasses from your home?" Caoimhe finally replied.</p><p>"Of course they were," Darevan snapped back, not in the mood. He could hear a guard shifting on his feet to look at him, weighing when to intervene on behalf of the hand that fed him.</p><p>"Oh. You must be missing them, then." Darevan was surprised to find his voice sounded sincere, and flicked his gaze upward for just a second to read the boy's face. He seemed apologetic enough - an expression Darevan thought Maeve's features could not be contorted into. When Darevan looked back down, Caoimhe tried to reel him back, straddling the back of his chair in a decidedly unladylike way and staring up at him. "Why did you wear them?"</p><p>Darevan kept silent.</p><p>"Would you like me to order you a new set?" he tried instead.</p><p>"They can not be replaced," Darevan growled.</p><p>"Hmm..." Out of his peripheral vision, Darevan could see Caoimhe resting his cheek on the back of the chair. "What's your name?"</p><p>"Shaman," Darevan lied, not willing to waste his breath explaining the truth.</p><p>"What happened to your planet, Shaman?"</p><p>Darevan gave a cold, barking laugh, glaring up at the ceiling and catching Caoimhe's eyes in the crossfire.</p><p>"You're awfully naive to the ways of your allies, <em>Princess</em>."</p><p>"Servant-" The guard who had struck him yesterday stepped forward warningly, hand on his nightstick.</p><p>"No," Caoimhe insisted. "Let him speak." But Darevan had nothing to say, so the Princess continued instead. "My mother said you were a refugee. That you needed a job here."</p><p><em>"She left out some key details,"</em> Darevan hissed, teeth tense in his jaw. It would have been one thing if the Princess had been trying to provoke him, but to have him sit there and expect him to correct his ignorance was a special kind of insulting.</p><p>Caoimhe sat in silence a moment before turning around. Then he lifted his hand to the nape of his neck, reached beneath the collar of his dress, and withdrew... of all things, a <em>cable</em>, uncurled from a compartment within his spine. Darevan's eyes flicked to the spectacle, anger giving way to curiosity. As Caoimhe plugged himself into the tablet, the fire in his gaze fell away as he lost awareness of the world around him. He sat, staring straight ahead at nothing, while his fingers keyed the air to hit some input panel Darevan could not see.</p><p>It took the Princess more than an hour to finish his homework in silence, but eventually he yanked his connection from the tablet and called for the tutor, who, as it had turned out, had been seated outside of the room the entire time.</p><p>"What is my next subject," Caoimhe asked emotionlessly.</p><p>The tutor stood at a distance, hands folded in front of her. "Interplanetary history and politics, Highness."</p><p>Caoimhe sighed, somehow relieved and disappointed at the same time. "Pull up the materials."</p><p>The tutor pulled a silver cord from her own neck and plugged it into the tablet - her knowledge began to copy itself over, spilling into the databank before shutting off the screen as she unplugged. Those capable of physically interfacing with technology did not need their eyes to see, but instead of replacing his connection to the tablet, Caoimhe turned the screen back on and began to sift through the files by hand. The tutor opened her mouth to speak, reaching back for the tablet she had spilled her mind into, but the object was jerked violently away from her. She flinched, her hands suspended mid-air.</p><p>"Have you ever been off of this planet?" Caoimhe questioned.</p><p>"No, your Highness," the tutor answered humbly. "But I have memorized the texts-"</p><p>"Then I don't want to learn it from <em>you,</em>" he spat. He hugged the tablet against his chest and slid out of his chair - and Darevan thought he could see the tutor breathe in sharply as Caoimhe passed her by.</p><p>"Shaman, I have your first order for you." The young royal pranced over to Darevan, arms extended upwards to show him the image he had pulled up. "I want you to explain this to me."</p><p>Darevan glanced down to find an image of a wintering boreal forest, no doubt from an Earth-like planet humans had stolen from its extinct alien stewards. He raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"...Trees?"</p><p>Caoimhe glared at him, dropping his arms to his side. "I know what trees are." He took a breath to refocus, and tried again. "I'm asking you what this was <em>like</em>, servant."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Darevan was expected to report to the Queen at least once weekly. Notably, this was to occur after the Queen and Caoimhe had a private lesson of their own - the purpose of which was not to discuss his daily life, but often involved such things. If the Queen suspected that her Princess' waitstaff were acting out of line, they were quickly interrogated and, typically, charged with treason. Rarely, however, Caoimhe acted in a way that managed to impress the Queen - sharing some knowledge tangentially relevant to his lot in life, or sometimes, as little as sitting still. Darevan would come to learn that today had been such a day.</p><p>Darevan was given an audience with the Hive Queen at the foot of the stairs to her throne, where he was encouraged to drop to his knees until invited to stand. He did so half-heartedly, and found he was not asked to rise, though he was permitted to look at his 'employer' as he gave his report. He rattled off what Caoimhe had demanded of him that week, and how he had responded. Suspecting that Caoimhe had already mentioned their lessons together, he was not inclined to lie, though this is where he expected the Princess' requests for his mentorship to suddenly become his fault.</p><p>To his surprise, Maeve did not react negatively. Instead, she interrupted him to ask an unusual question:</p><p>"Has she struck you?"</p><p>Darevan narrowed his gaze in confusion. "Struck me?"</p><p>"<em>Majesty</em>," Maeve reminded him. Darevan repeated her dully, and the Queen nodded in acknowledgement. She continued: "Well? Has my daughter tried to bludgeon you with her tablet? Hit you over the head with a serving tray? Or, perhaps, pour scalding tea on your lap?"</p><p>Darevan stared at her. He considered, for an instant, being honest with her and mentioning the incident with his Eyes, but thought better of it: "No," he replied. Maeve cleared her throat. "No, <em>your Majesty</em>."</p><p>"<em>...Well</em>," Maeve sounded genuinely impressed, and she leaned back to relax on her throne. "That <em>is</em> a surprise."</p><p>Reasons for the tutor's behaviours were falling into place, and Darevan wondered when he, too, would become a victim of the unhappy Princess' wrath. "Is that a common occurrence? Her Highness attacking her tutors."</p><p>"If she had, you'd be the sixth in as many months," she answered him, and he was at least grateful for her honesty. Maeve leaned to one side to place her chin against a finger, shaking her head with a frustrated sigh. "She's going through a rebellious phase. She has no respect for anyone at all." Darevan thought of Caoimhe listening to him attentively and, again, kept his silence. Maeve hummed in amusement and gestured towards Darevan. "You know how it is with girls her age."</p><p>It surprised Darevan to hear her speak to him as though he were a peer - or rather, he realized suddenly, <em>a parent</em>. It was true that Darevan had once been good with children. He'd taken some measure of satisfaction in mentoring aspiring acolytes, though he had not once desired a clutch of his own. Their proximity in age might have led the Queen to assume he'd had a family- she had probably never considered an adult could choose otherwise- but Darevan was not a father. Nor was, he decided, Maeve much of a mother to Caoimhe in any way other than blood.</p><p>Maeve left long enough of a pause to make it clear that she was expecting him to agree, but not long enough to admit to this when she turned out to be wrong. "But she'll grow out of it," she quickly concluded, eyes cast down at the signet ring she wore which marked her as the Hive Queen. From so close a distance, now, Darevan could see that the ring was alight with electric energy, reacting to the Queen's biometric signature.</p><p>She rose, turned her back on the throne to approach the wall behind it and touched a panel. One hundred iron walls drew back like a curtain under her command, and she took one step forward into her quarters. Darevan moved to rise, not expecting the Queen to speak again, though she turned back to him just before the curtain closed before her. "We all do, in time."</p><p>After several weeks of teaching Caoimhe with greater success than any tutor before him, the Queen started allowing him to enter the Princess' chambers without constant surveillance.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The more Darevan visited Caoimhe, the more the large, empty room began to resemble a cell. Darevan rarely saw Caoimhe outside of it, for even when Caoimhe was permitted to leave, he could not go far. Darevan, too, was confined to the Palace, both unable and unwilling to venture out into the filthy greenless world beyond, where the average citizen was afforded far less space to roam than the Princess' bedchamber had. So they escaped from that place through stories of other planets - of the other species that once lived there, when the curriculum allowed for it.</p><p>More often than not, though, the materials that Darevan was given to work with had a transparent bias that needed correction, and their privacy had made him bold. </p><p>"These texts want you to believe that your planet thrives without slave labour," Darevan sighed, "But that's wrong. In particular, your planet uses an abundance of alien slaves."</p><p>The stubborn Princess shook his head, pleased that he had finally found something he knew more about than his mentor. "No, Shaman. There are no aliens on M83-One, let alone slaves." Caoimhe's correction was sharp and smug. "Neuroimplants are only built for human brains, so it would be like going through life blind, if they lived here. It doesn't make sense." 

</p><p>Darevan stared at him, knowing well that he was wrong on several counts but lacking the energy to get into it. He let his expression speak for itself. 

</p><p>"Okay, first of all," Caoimhe argued, anticipating Darevan's most obvious objection, "You <em>chose</em> not to get an implant." 

</p><p>Among other reasons, Darevan knew that the Queen used neuroimplants to monitor the activities of the subjects plugged in to her infrastructure. He had seen evidence of this with a simple network skim, pushing his powers lightly into the labyrinthian series of cables encased deep within the palace walls. He was even more horrified to learn that not only was this a well-known fact among her citizens, but that the entire planet had been conditioned to accept it as normal. 

</p><p>Still, he let Caoimhe continue uninterrupted: "Even though you can get away without one in the Palace, outside, it's totally different. You do everything through your implant - work, pay for goods and services, <em>even talk</em>. It would be too hard to survive without one." 

</p><p>"Second of all," Caoimhe continued, "There just aren't any alien slaves. Even if there were some secret slave camp," he spoke with his hands to emphasize the ridiculousness of the concept, "I think I would know about it, as the next Queen. So what you're saying doesn't make sense." 

</p><p>Darevan had anticipated this argument. "Your planet has no natural resources, Caoimhe. Where do you think your supplies come from?" 

</p><p>"We import them from other planets," Caoimhe answered like it was obvious. 

</p><p>"Which use alien slaves to harvest the resources," Darevan sighed in disgust. 

</p><p>Caoimhe stiffened, expression warping from satisfaction into discomfort. "Well... That will change when I am Queen," he announced. "I'll outlaw resources gathered with slave labour in my sector. Then I'll renegotiate import rules with the rest of the representatives of the Constellar Federation." 

</p><p>Darevan tilted his head pensively. "I doubt you would remain Hive Queen for long with that law. Your rule as your planet's delegate depends on your sector being the most profitable market, and slavery is cheap. The other courts are not likely to abandon it." 

</p><p>"Shaman, I thought you were arguing <em>against</em> slavery," Caoimhe growled, frustrated. 

</p><p>"I am. I'm telling you that your system is broken," Darevan hissed under his breath, eyes flicking up to confirm that the guards posted outside the door could not hear. "Capitalism was created in the interest of making money infinitely. Anything that runs counter to that is difficult- if not impossible- to implement in such a society." 

</p><p>Caoimhe frowned, unable to disagree. He laid back in his chair, staring at the ceiling hopelessly, wracking his brain for some other answer that fit within the rules and coming up short. Finally, he gave up entirely. 

</p><p>"What kind of system did your people live in, then?" 

</p><p>Darevan almost fell into his trap before catching himself; he opened his mouth and quickly shut it, caught between conflicting answers. It wasn't Caoimhe's business to know- he already knew that any talk of his home was strictly off limits- but the boy seemed so desperate to learn some alternative solution to the hell his people lived in. Seemed so desperate for any life outside of these walls. 

</p><p>"Perhaps I'll tell you someday," he reluctantly decided. 

</p><p>Caoimhe perked up like a gerkual offered a treat, deep blue eyes sparkling. He'd finally gotten his way. "How soon is someday?" 

</p><p>Darevan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. When exactly had gotten so comfortable with the enemy that he was willing to casually chat about the family the Princess' people had slaughtered? 

</p><p>...But it wasn't like that, was it? Caoimhe was just a boy, not yet complicit in the system he was trapped in. If he looked at it that way, they were almost similar. 

</p><p>Darevan started speaking before he meant to. "...I suppose it could be today, if you finish your work," he compromised. 

</p><p>Caoimhe nodded and turned in his seat in one swift motion. He yanked his cable from his neck and merged himself with his tablet, working quietly to finish his assignment before the servant shift changed over. 

</p><p>Darevan could not stop himself from being warmed by some mentorly swell of pride - like a fledgling Op'Mahun coming into their power, it was encouraging to finally see the youth inspired by something.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Comet in the Void</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>True names are revealed.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning for suicidal ideation, mentions of menstruation and some not-so-nice insinuations about arranging marriage for young royal family members.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Darevan discovered that the Princess' violent tendencies were not born from some genetic royal psychopathy, but from a lack of mental stimulation. The curriculum as written was not enough to capture Caoimhe's interest, so when the boy inevitably grew restless, Darevan knew to weave in some anecdote about his life on a planet far from here. Eventually, however, Darevan ran out of stories he felt comfortable sharing. What was left were intimate tales of his father's kindness to him, of the adventures of his brothers and sisters who now lived out their lives in this timeline only in memory - and Darevan kept them close to his chest, unsullied by human perspective.</p><p>But the two of them did share one 'day-off' in the week, which gave them an opportunity to find a replacement outlet. It was not quite 'free time' so much as neither of them were expected to be anywhere, confined to their living spaces. Good behavior, however, had given Caoimhe leverage to convince the Queen to allow him to share this time with the man he perceived to be his only friend, and Darevan accepted his invitation out of lack of anything better to do.</p><p>Before Darevan arrived, Caoimhe had stripped his outfit down to a loose-fitting tunic and tights, and was wearing his most charming smile.</p><p>"Hey," Caoimhe didn't leave room for Darevan to return the greeting before launching into his scheme. "Teach me how to fight?"</p><p>"What makes you think I know how to fight?" Darevan asked suspiciously. Caoimhe made a face and gestured to <em>all</em> of him - still well-toned in spite of his considerable swerve in occupation- so he tried a different tack: "Even if I did know, why in the Gods' name would I teach you?"</p><p>"Because no one else will!" Caoimhe stomped his feet. "Because I'm the only Princess in this entire Hive who doesn't have a gun."</p><p>"Probably with good reason," Darevan conceded.Caoimhe shoved him as hard as his thin arms could manage.</p><p>"<em>Fuck you</em>, Shaman! I deserve to know how to protect myself." His cheeks flushed with an anger that Darevan had come to find endearing rather than intimidating. "And really, what else is there for us to do?" He spread out his arms and dropped them to his sides petulantly.</p><p>Darevan looked anxiously towards the guards posted outside the open door to the room, knowing that this was a terrible idea.</p><p>"They don't care," Caoimhe assured him. "I slipped them some jewelry to let us know if Mother is coming."</p><p>"They're going to care when you use what I teach you to attack them and make a break for it," he mused.</p><p>There was a beat. "I wasn't going to do that," Caoimhe lied. He grabbed his arm and tugged him towards a sprawling, ornate rug that he'd had someone drag into the room from elsewhere. "Come on! <em>Please?</em>"</p><p>...Darevan supposed it might be good for him to have a new place to direct his energy. So he guided the hands from his arm, took Caoimhe firmly by the shoulders, and looked sternly down into his eyes.</p><p>"If you use what I teach you to hurt anyone in this court, <em>this</em>-" He gestured between them, referring not only to sparring, but to their mentorship- "Will <em>stop</em>. Do you understand?"</p><p>And when Caoimhe brightened with joy, Darevan thought the boy had become dangerously good at manipulating him.</p><p>"Yes!"</p><p>The older man sighed, recognizing that Caoimhe had not quite promised to do no harm. Still, he told his student where to stand, and began to run through the basics - of respecting one's opponent, and how to fight with honour.</p><p>But when Darevan had fought, it was for sport - friendly competition between rivalling but ultimately friendly clans. When Caoimhe fought, it was for survival, and he had a difficult time learning how to pull his punches. Darevan found himself getting cut and bruised by the child's desperation, and decided he would break their weekend classes into a series of short sessions.</p><p>And while they rested, it was Caoimhe's turn to talk. </p><p>He'd talk about his foiled plans to spend a day alone in the Hive, about his hunger for a war to break the monotony, about wishing he could have been one of Maeve's sons and not her daughter. About daydreaming he'd find himself a spacecraft deep in the bowels of the Palace, take off out of this system, and just go nowhere.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Keeping the Princess occupied might have dropped his violent outbursts near to zero, but it did not stop him from being morose. Today was a day Darevan thought might put his charge in a celebratory, if self-centred, state of mind - but he entered Caoimhe's room to find him face-up on the bed in a simple white shift, staring miserably at the ceiling.</p><p>"Happy Birthday, Caoimhe," Darevan greeted, somewhat earnest.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He had nothing other than his company to give him, and wondered if that might be enough.</span></p><p>Caoimhe shrugged, indifferent.</p><p>Darevan continued anyway, hoping Caoimhe would get over himself. "Thirteen. You're practically a young adult."</p><p>"Mm, yeah, adult. That means I can get strutted around like I'm for sale," Caoimhe grumbled. He turned his neck so his cheek was resting against the blanket, gaze dropping to a fancy dress laid out beside him, and screwed up his face in disgust. "I know what the Queen wants from the party tonight. If you think Mother would hold a ball for me out of affection, you're not as smart as I thought you were, Shaman."</p><p>Darevan sighed hard, giving up on improving the boy's mood. Contrary to what the spoiled brat thought, he'd gleaned long ago that the Hive Queen might have ulterior motives for shoving her child out into the world dressed like a woman. Still, he was willing to give Caoimhe a pass for his attitude; he had once been an angry, sharp-tongued teen, himself, over less.</p><p>"My lessons are cancelled so I can get ready," Caoimhe grumbled, rolling his head back to look at Darevan. "You don't need to be here right now."</p><p>Darevan shrugged. "I thought I'd wish you well before you were too busy," he admitted. When Caoimhe rolled his eyes, Darevan found his patience cut unexpectedly short. "But if you see no reason for it, I'll see you tomorrow. Enjoy the ball," Darevan finished stiffly as he turned towards the door.</p><p>Caoimhe shuffled, and Darevan could hear him scrambling to rise to a seat on the edge of the bed.</p><p>"-Mother has agreed to allow you to attend tonight, actually." For an instant, Caoimhe actually sounded excited, but by the time Darevan turned around it had worn off: Caoimhe averted his gaze shyly, trying to justify the invitation. "You're a big guy. There will be a lot of creeps to fend off." Looking for a distraction, he lept into a different train of thought entirely: "...You know, Shaman, she would make you a member of my royal guard if you'd <em>just</em> get a neuroimplant..."</p><p>"I'd rather not," Darevan cut him off, choosing to ignore whatever plot he knew Caoimhe was building up to. "See you tonight, then."</p><p>"Mm, maybe," Caoimhe answered, as though he wouldn't.</p><p> </p><p>Darevan reentered the room four hours later, just as the handmaids were finishing tending to their shared charge. Unlike when they'd first met, Caoimhe seemed to be enduring the humiliation quietly - allowing them to pat him down with a powder puff, mascara un-smudged, hands on his lap. Then the handmaids were done, and the boy turned slowly to greet his chaperone.</p><p>Darevan froze. The 'Princess' who looked up at him now was identical to Caoimhe in almost every way- from the shapes of his cheeks to the color of his eyes- <em>but was definitely not him</em>. When the fake cast a glance at Darevan demurely, it was akin to looking into the eyes of the corpse of a loved one after only just seeing them alive.</p><p>Darevan almost gasped, but caught himself. If this wasn't Caoimhe, then where was he? What trouble had he gotten himself into on a night like tonight, when all the eyes in the Hive would be fixed on him?</p><p>"Servant," the child greeted, "Good evening." His voice was too faint and weak-spirited to ever pass as his brother's.</p><p>Darevan suspected it might endanger Caoimhe further to reveal to the guards posted outside that he was not there. Darevan straighted, and nodded. "Princess," he mumbled in response, and he could see the overwhelming relief in the impostor's eyes.</p><p>The boy stood from the dressing-table and took Darevan's arm, ready to be escorted out before the ruse fell apart. And when they exited the room and ran into the Queen, Darevan did not expect it to last much longer. To his surprise, the woman's gaze passed uneventfully over her 'daughter' and she addressed him first:</p><p>"Do not embarrass me tonight, Shaman. You are to be silent in the presence of the Princess' suitors. Do exactly as the Princess asks of you - stay out of sight if she requests it. As always, you are hers to command as though the order were coming from me."</p><p>Finally, she turned to her child. "I've given you what you wanted, Caoimhe. Can I expect you to be on your best behaviour in return?"</p><p>"Yes," the fake whispered.</p><p>"Good." Satisfied, the Queen waved them off with disinterest before shuffling off, hand on her stomach.</p><p>Darevan's gaze followed her and he realized that she was none the wiser - that she had lost the ability to tell her child apart from a twin.</p><p>What the fuck was going on?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Darevan escorted his fake guest of honor to a celebration meant for someone else, wondering how long they would be able to maintain the act. He wondered what would happen if someone discovered Caoimhe had made a break for it - his mind's eye painted him a disturbing picture of the child shot through the back, the head, the neck, mistaken for someone else. Or, worse; not mistaken at all...</p><p>Most of all, Darevan blamed himself for giving Caoimhe the confidence to escape. If he hadn't started teaching him, instilled in him an unearned boldness, given him the impression that there was some evil to escape, he would be safe right now- </p><p>A blonde child brushed past him, flanked by a guard, and Darevan's heart leapt into his throat. -But it was not Caoimhe, but one of his younger brothers, who seemed too young to be attending such a prestigious event.</p><p>Darevan broke from his trance and looked around, surveying the guests in the banquet hall.</p><p>He had never seen all of the Hive Queen's children in one place before. He tried to count the number in attendance, but they looked so alike that the sum kept getting away from him as they moved around the room. Each of them had their own handler - though he noticed they were guards, not servants, and he wondered how Caoimhe had ever convinced the Queen to make an exception. </p><p>He knew that Maeve had borne eight more sons after Caoimhe (with another expected) in her bid to influence as many of the royal courts in the Hive as possible, though none of them were close to a marriageable age. Were Caoimhe here, he would have been the oldest at thirteen; the rest of his siblings descended in age between one and two years each, with two sets of twins. She'd given each of her children names from dead Earthen languages - to emphasize that her bloodline was traceable back to the first company that had built the M83 planets, the first of the wealthy elite who'd had the resources to escape the lifeless husk of their native Earth. Supposedly, she'd picked out fourteen boy's names in advance, ready to be slotted into the long-removed but basely similar Earthen culture of each of the other royal courts.</p><p>The tallest of the children kept trying to meet Darevan's eyes from across the room, trying to draw his attention. Beside Darevan, the 'Princess' cleared his throat, directing him towards the young interloper. "Please escort me across the floor," he requested quietly. Darevan was compelled to oblige, and the two near-identical children met eachother halfway, their escorts trailing behind them.</p><p>The boy was dressed in a handsomely cut white dress shirt and pants, plain outfit classed up by a fine, long vest with a subtle gold circuit texture. His long hair had been pulled back into a low ponytail by a wide white ribbon wound tightly at the base of his skull, and his neuroimplant had the same chunky finery as his mother and 'sister'.</p><p>The Princess-imposter piped up: "Servant, you are in the presence of his Royal Highness, Prince Liam, my brother and eldest son of the Queen."</p><p>In his brother's clothes, Caoimhe bowed in deep exaggeration without dropping his chin, gaze locked knowingly with his mentor. Darevan gave as quick and shallow a bow as he thought he could get away with, mouth twitching in frustration, unable to admit that he was profoundly relieved.</p><p>"Princess," Darevan grumbled to the boy on his arm, trying and failing to be polite, "why don't you mingle with your guests while Prince Liam and I have a quick chat."</p><p>The fake Princess looked to the fake Prince uncertainly, but his trepidation was waved off. Then he nodded, handed himself off to the Prince's guard, and disappeared into the crowd as Darevan was guided to the privacy of the nearby balcony.</p><p>Darevan would have slammed the glass door behind the 'Prince' as he crossed the threshold of the courtyard if he thought it wouldn't draw attention. Once the pane was pressed carefully into the doorframe, the older man rounded on the younger in a tranquil fury.</p><p>"What game are you playing, Caoimhe?"</p><p>"Oh, relax," Caoimhe sighed, folding his arms against the railing, looking upwards into the endless highway of light that was his Hive. "Mother has never noticed. You won't get in trouble, Shaman."</p><p>"That's not my concern. You do this often?"</p><p>"It's easier when the handmaids are between pay cycles," he shrugged.</p><p>"So as often as you can get away with it."</p><p>"Guess so," Caoimhe hummed.</p><p>"For what purpose?"</p><p>"So many questions..." the boy scoffed, feigning frustration. "My younger brothers will never have control over these people. It's fun for them to pretend for awhile."</p><p>"And what do you get out of it?" Darevan was struggling to find a reason that would justify the grief the boy had caused him.</p><p>Caoimhe was silent, his smile falling, staring intently at something far out of his reach.</p><p>Darevan might have dropped the subject, but Caoimhe was quicker on the draw. "Well, for one," Caoimhe began, glancing backwards at Darevan before his eyes moved to watch his brother through the glass wall, "I can do as I please for a night. My brothers will eventually be able to go wherever they want in the Hive on their own. Freedom is its own kind of power, even if they can't see that, yet." He drummed his fingers upon the white railing. "They'll get their lives. The only person who doesn't have one is me."</p><p>Darevan shook his head, not quite in disagreement. "Why don't you just leave?"</p><p>"You know I've tried," Caoimhe huffed. "The digital locks in the Palace are the most secure in the Hive - no one gets in or out without the Queen's approval. Least of all me."</p><p>He leaned back against the railing - far back, until he could look straight up into the streets above. Darevan started forward to catch him if he needed to, but Caoimhe did not fall.</p><p>"I'd jump," the boy mused, "If I thought it would kill me. Best case, our game would just be found out." He sighed through his nose. "Your glasses were the best chance I'd had in awhile. Can't believe I blew it..."</p><p>"Get down from there," Darevan snapped, feeling somehow accused, grabbing him roughly by the arm and throwing him onto the safe side of the railing. Caoimhe rubbed his arm, head bowed, perhaps embarassed by his outburst - before he snapped back into place with an energetic grin.</p><p>"Well, enjoy the party, Shaman. You can escort the 'Princess' back to my room later," Caoimhe laughed. "We'll make the switch before breakfast tomorrow morning. I'll see you for my lessons."</p><p>Then he threw open the balcony door and disappeared into the crowd to live as himself for a few hours more.</p>
<hr/><p>When Darevan came to give Caoimhe his lesson the next day, he found him hunched over in his bathroom, clutching his stomach and vomiting into the sink.</p><p>"Shaman?" Caoimhe's voice held none of its usual energy. Weak and vulnerable, it was barely above a whimper.</p><p>"You're sick," Darevan answered quickly, the concern in his voice betraying his usual stoicism. His first thought was that he was <em>poisoned during last night's feast</em> - he quickened his pace towards him, pulse beating in his ears.</p><p>Sensing Darevan's panic, Caoimhe shook his head, clearing his throat. His voice quavered even as he tried to make himself sound healthy. "I'm fine. It's just, uh," his expression tightened with disgust. He took awhile longer to answer, and made a point of turning his head away from Darevan. His lips barely moved when he answered. "My period."</p><p>Oh. Darevan's concern was only somewhat mitigated- he hadn't grown up with humans, but knew the fundamentals of human biology, for such facts were engraved within the collective knowledge of the Op'Mahun. This didn't seem right to him. He crossed the threshold of the bathroom door, taking a few tentative steps towards Caoimhe. "Is it always this painful?"</p><p>Caoimhe's answer was breathless and immediate. <em>"Yes."</em> The young man did not yet look at Darevan, and curled his arms tighter around himself, defeated.</p><p>Carefully, Darevan approached Caoimhe from behind, lingering there for a moment while Caoimhe stared into the drain. Then the boy leaned over to retch again, and Darevan carefully reached forward to tuck his hair behind his shoulders, securing it with one hand while rubbing Caoimhe's lower back with the other. Caoimhe flinched at his touch at first, the muscles in his shoulders tensing uneasily - before he relaxed with a groan, letting the warmth from Darevan's touch soothe him.</p><p>Then he suddenly broke away from Darevan and the sink, backing into a wall; staring ahead, dead-eyed.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Darevan said quickly.</p><p>"No. It wasn't y-" Caoimhe straightened, taking a deep breath and throwing his shoulders back to make himself seem bigger than he was. "I'm fine. I can handle it," he insisted.</p><p>A silence passed between them. Darevan broke it gently, unconvinced. "When did you last run a painkiller module?"</p><p>Caoimhe shook his head. "My implant blocks those."</p><p>Darevan furrowed his brow. "I don't understand."</p><p>The boy laughed bitterly, folding his arms, staring down at the bathroom floor. Sweat beaded on his face, and Darevan could see he was concealing pain behind his nonplussed expression. "The Queen says she doesn't want to risk those messing up my fertility." He winced before catching himself. "No one can run anything on my implant except my mother. She's the only one who can-" He forced himself to swallow the thick coat of saliva pooling in his mouth- "who can decrypt it."</p><p>Darevan shuddered; the thought of the continuity of the royal line trumping its children's health and happiness was wholly disturbing. He wondered if he could manufacture some injury to smuggle Caoimhe tablets, but realized at once that the Queen would not concern herself with the pain of a servant.</p><p>"...Let's get you to bed, then."</p><p>Caoimhe shook his head insistently again, but his voice was staccatic as he concentrated through nauseating pain. "I said- I can handle it. Let's just-"</p><p>Before he could hear any more arguments, Darevan swept Caoimhe off the floor and carried him to his bed. It was less of a struggle than he anticipated - Caoimhe wriggled slightly before burying his face into Darevan's chest, lips parted in a soundless moan. As Darevan set him down, Caoimhe's arms were wrapped around his abdomen and his eyes were shut tightly in concentration. <em>Poor thing,</em> Darevan found himself thinking as he lifted the blankets over Caoimhe's stomach - Caoimhe grabbed them eagerly, twisting into a ball to guard his gut.</p><p>Darevan left Caoimhe to prepare a tray - boiled water in a silver kettle, a hot-water bottle, a basin, and a cold, damp hand towel- which he brought back to his room and set at his bedside. He placed the basin near Caoimhe's pillow and prepared the hot water, wrapping the bottle in a blanket so it wouldn't burn his bare skin. Then he slid it beneath the sheets where Caoimhe received it from him - and Darevan sat on the edge of the bed, quietly.</p><p>"...Thanks," Caoimhe murmured. He opened his eyes to peer over the covers at Darevan. "You didn't need to do that."</p><p>"I know," Darevan admitted more bluntly than he had intended. He thought he knew better than to let himself get attached to a child of the Queen, too, but here they were.</p><p>As though he knew this, Caoimhe stayed silent a moment. His gaze dropped away, staring into nothing. "It's supposed to get better," he decided to say, though his tone lacked any trace of optimism or hope. "Mother says it hurt for her, too, her until she had me." He laughed a joyless, empty laugh. "And I don't have a choice about having heirs, I guess."</p><p>Darevan sighed. He wondered if Maeve was once in Caoimhe's place, a child terrified of their own future but herded into it forcefully nonetheless. But it proved too hard for him to summon sympathy for the Queen.</p><p>Caoimhe lingered on his self-pity. "We've both slaves, Shaman," Caoimhe muttered, twisting to whine bitterly into his pillow. Furious tears threatened to fall from the corner of his eye. "I hate this. I'd rather be dead."</p><p>Someone should never be made to yearn for death, and to hear it from Caoimhe, with all his youth and fire, was particularly shocking. Darevan wondered if the Queen had seen her child like this, too; if she had looked upon his suffering and felt relief that she would not have to deal with his defiant nature for at least one week out of the month, and had come up with some arbitrary reason to let his misery continue. In spite of the toxic rage he was suddenly filled with, Darevan managed to guide Caoimhe by his shoulders gently until he was rolled flat onto his back.</p><p>"Hold on to the hot water bottle and lie back, Caoimhe." If he couldn't administer painkillers, he was at least going to provide him the security of thinking he was loved. Darevan pulled the down-filled cover up over Caoimhe's torso, unconsciously tucking it at his shoulders.</p><p>Caoimhe's expression creased in confusion. "Uh, what are you doing?"</p><p>"Please. Lie back." Darevan laid the cool cloth over Caoimhe's forehead, draping it carefully across his temples-</p><p><i>And suddenly, as easily as reading, Darevan could see complex organic code that made up Caoimhe's brain; the electrical network that sent signals from his implant to his body and back again. The longer Darevan's hand hovered near the implant, the clearer this code became; like brushing his fingertips over raised stitchwork, it felt as though the smallest snag could cause everything to come undone. Like skimming a book, Darevan ran his inner eye over the code until his sight landed on the signal that controlled Caoimhe's perception of uterine pain - and without resistance, it tore away under his command</i>.</p><p>Caoimhe sighed in relief, closing his eyes, content. Darevan removed his hand and studied his face carefully, worried he might have done something he shouldn't have - until Caoimhe smiled.</p><p>"You're right," he hummed. "This is better."</p><p>Darevan stared at him, but Caoimhe did not open his eyes. "Get some rest, my friend."</p><p>Caoimhe's lips parted slightly as if he were preparing to speak - but then they slowly closed, and he pushed air softly through his nose as he relaxed into the pillow. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Caoimhe awoke, the fight had returned to his eyes again; he sprang out of bed and collected himself in the bathroom, seating himself at his desk eagerly when he was done.</p><p>"It doesn't hurt," he remarked plainly. "I'm still bleeding, but I can't feel anything." He stretched, leaning back, playing chicken by rocking periodically onto the back legs of the chair. "That hot water felt good, I guess. Thanks."</p><p>Knowing Caoimhe would try it himself next time and be disappointed, Darevan felt obligated to tell the truth. "It was more than just the hot water."</p><p>Caoimhe stopped rocking practically mid-tilt, expression twisting into gradual distrust - Darevan knew he had precious seconds to explain before the wall he'd worked to tear down built itself back up. "I bypassed your implant," he admitted.</p><p>At first, the boy's expression dropped, and it looked like Caoimhe might be furious with him - but his shock gave way into a wide grin, and he bounded to his feet, throwing his arms around Darevan's waist with bright enthusiasm.</p><p>"Wh- But- How?!" His gleeful astonishment left him at a loss for words. "You would have needed my mother's biometric profile to do that. How the hell did you hack her-?!"</p><p>"My people lived in harmony with nature and technology," Darevan began, correcting Caoimhe's misconception as he withdrew from the hug. "We had a sacred skill to interface directly with tech without the transmission line humans need. As the next in line to become Shaman, I had to know how to use and keep the databank of our Gods. And, well, I suppose your people are just as machine as they are human..."</p><p>Caoimhe raised his eyebrow, deeply skeptical of Darevan's religion, but knowing better than to say it. Instead, he gave a sort of thoughtful frown. "...What else can you do?"</p><p>Darevan shrugged. "To people with implants, you mean? I don't know. I've never tried to debug a human before."</p><p>Caoimhe pursed his lips as if thinking something through.</p><p>"Why," Darevan thought to continue, "Is there something you want?"</p><p>"Yeah. Since I can't modify my implant, you could..." Caoimhe trailed off and did not continue.</p><p>"Hey." Darevan shoved him affectionately on the shoulder to encourage him, but Caoimhe looked like he hadn't even noticed he'd been touched. "...Well?"</p><p>"You could..." He brushed his long hair off of his face anxiously, avoiding eye contact until the moment just before he spoke. "...Make me into a boy."</p><p>In the instant after, when Darevan laughed, Caoimhe looked at him with such betrayal in his eyes that he may as well have been cuffed across the face. Quickly and apologetically, Darevan raised his hands, shaking his head. "No, you misunderstand me. The man makes himself," he corrected, finding himself surprised to use words his father might have said. "You don't need me for that."</p><p>Caoimhe punched him hard on the arm, beet red, feelings bruised. "You know what I mean, Shaman!"</p><p>"I do," Darevan started, frowning, and he understood well what it meant to <em>be</em> something that your body was not. "But changing your physiology isn't like blocking an ache. It's unfettered access to your brain. Forcing changes to your body would mean rewriting your implant's code from scratch, and I-"</p><p>"I trust you." Caoimhe said firmly before Darevan could form his next thought. Their gaze met, the words still echoing about the large and empty room. "You'd be careful. You wouldn't hurt me."</p><p>Darevan stared into his eyes, which were narrowed fiercely in convinction. "...I wouldn't." And it was the truth. No matter how much he hated the Queen, the woman had been smart to let her heir sink his hooks into his heart - for Caoimhe to remove himself would wound him, now. In a way, it was the cruellest trick Maeve could have pulled. But the Queen had bet on her eldest child turning out exactly like her, and 'Caoimhe' was not Maeve.</p><p>Not by a long shot.</p><p>"Come here, then. We can start now." Darevan extended his hand until it brushed against the boy's temples; leaning into his touch, Caoimhe rested his head softly against his fingertips. The young prince reached up to press his palm against the back of Darevan's hand, holding on tight as though Darevan might pull away from him - then he closed his eyes with a smile, unable to conceal his joy.</p><p>"Thank you, Shaman. Thank you <em>so much.</em>"</p><p>"...You can call me Darevan when we're alone," he answered him softly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Key and the Cage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Humanity is doomed by those who love Liam.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for threats of reproductive slavery and borderline purposeful misgendering by antagonists; warnings for threats of suicide, and for violence, gore, and death.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Puberty was not an overnight thing, but it was still a comfort to Caoimhe to have more testosterone circulating in his blood - to have his periods slow almost to a stop, his muscle mass gradually become more apparent. Darevan did not know precisely what to increase his dose by, and, as he'd promised, he erred on the side of caution. Their experiments were much of a waiting game, but when Caoimhe's voice became hoarse and began to break, it was not an unnoticed victory.</p><p>Unfortunately, they were not the only ones who were watching for changes.</p><p>Darevan knew it was an inevitability that the Queen would notice Caoimhe's puberty was not proceeding as expected - so the two of them carefully planned their escape around when Maeve was due to give birth, when the Queen and the Hive's attention would be off of them for a brief moment. This would have given them several months to plan; but the changes were faster than they'd expected, and the hammer came down fast and hard. On an afternoon a full two months before the planned escape, Darevan had just lifted his hand to Caoimhe's temple, started to force another small change to the testosterone the boy's body was producing-</p><p>Three people spilled into the room with a crash; two members of the royal guard ran ahead, concealing the third person. Darevan closed his connection just before one of the men grabbed him, wrenching his arms behind his back; the other grabbed Caoimhe with equal force.</p><p>Then the last visitor stepped forward, peering down her nose at the failed princess. It was Maeve.</p><p>"I thought something inapt was going on between you two. What is this?" Maeve's voice was laden with disgust - Darevan wondered, in her empty black heart, if she might be acting out of one shred of concern for her child's safety.</p><p>"We were just <em>talking</em>," Caoimhe spat, glaring up at his mother indignantly. The revelation that she must have somehow bugged his room rattled him, but he knew better than to confront her and admit to a lie.</p><p>"Indeed you have been. Yesterday, your servant seemed to be encouraging you to talk like a man. I wonder why that is?" Caoimhe turned his head away, but Maeve forced him to look at her, catching him on the jaw with a rough hand - running her thumb across the downy patch of light blonde hair that had sprouted on his upper lip.</p><p>Then, like snapping a pocketknife blade from its handle, she brandished her cable and stabbed it into a port on Caoimhe's temple. Caoimhe flinched and tried to jerk away, but the deed was done. It took the Queen all of three seconds to realize that the complex fertility code she had installed on Caoimhe's neuroimplant was gone - replaced with something she hadn't designed.</p><p><em>"...What the fuck?!"</em> The Queen withdrew her connection like she had been shocked from it, and her awareness of her surroundings - of her child, furious tears spilling down his cheeks - snapped back into focus. Darevan hadn't expected the Queen to be so foul-mouthed, but supposed Caoimhe must have heard it from someone. "What the fuck is this <em>shit</em>?!" Caoimhe tried to kick himself free of her gaze, but was swept gracelessly onto the floor by the guard, knee pressed hard against his back to keep him from moving.</p><p>Then the Queen rounded on Darevan, screaming in his face. <em>"What have you done to her!?"</em> She was equal parts enraged and astonished, grabbing a fistful of fabric at his neck. "How the <em>fuck</em> did you break the encryption?" When Darevan shook his head in feigned ignorance, the Queen struck him <em>hard</em> in the stomach with her fist, before striking him a second time across the teeth, leading with her signet ring. "Would you prefer I start shooting, servant?! Which body part would you prefer to lose first?" Darevan tasted iron in his mouth; hot blood steeped his tongue and ran down his throat.</p><p><em>"Don't-"</em> Caoimhe writhed fruitlessly against the guard's iron grip. "<em>Please</em>, he didn't <em>do anything</em>-"</p><p>Maeve relented from interrogating Darevan to address her child. Supporting her belly with one arm, she sank down to curl a hooklike hand into the hair at the base of Caoimhe's neck, craning his neck towards her unnaturally.</p><p>"Do you think I'm an idiot, girl?" Darevan knew that the misgendering would sting more than the injury. With her free hand, Maeve plugged a silver cord into the back of Caoimhe's neck, overriding the lock to his brain. Once this was done, the Queen disconnected violently and threw down her grip; Caoimhe's cheekbone slammed hard into the cold marble.</p><p>"Get rid of that garbage," Maeve snapped to her guard, pointing down at her son. "Reinstall the fertility modulator. Do whatever you have to do to make sure no one can tamper with her implant again."</p><p>Darevan had never heard Caoimhe <em>beg</em>- hadn't thought it was possible- but he knew at once he was about to. "<em>Don't,</em>" he hissed desperately. "<em>Don't-</em> If you do- If you do that, I'll<em> kill</em> myself-"</p><p>"You can die any time you like once our line has another Princess," Maeve spat, and Darevan knew with an electric terror that it would save time to have Caoimhe do it. "Until then, you don't leave our sight." She nodded to her guard, hovering over Caoimhe, who was already withdrawing a cable from the back of his own neck. "Do it."</p><p>The tip of the cable advanced like an executioner's sword- and sank with prejudice into Caoimhe's head, beginning the gradual but permanent reversal of himself. Caoimhe writhed, powerless to stop it, and then screamed like he was on fire - a sound Darevan had never heard before, and would never hear from him again.</p><p><em>"Stop!"</em> When Darevan spoke, blood sprayed from his teeth and peppered the ground at his feet. From beneath his guard's grip, he summoned all of his strength to wriggle one arm free, reaching up into empty air as if to tug the cable from its connection from across the room.</p><p>If only he could reach them- If only he could get his hands on that <em>complicit son of a bitch-! </em></p><p>
  <em>"Stop it-!"</em>
</p><p>At once Caoimhe's guard's neuroimplant exploded in a flash of light and fire, and half of his head melted away with it - a greyish-pink ooze rained down on Caoimhe's white clothes. The decapitated body slumped down near him, interconnect cable still hanging limply from Caoimhe's temple.</p><p>...Of all people, it was Caoimhe who betrayed him, next. The young man's gaze reflexively shot up to his, lips open in a disbelieving gasp, tear-glazed eyes overwhelmed with fear and gratitude. Maeve's cold stare travelled to her brain-flecked son, to Darevan, and then up to the guard who held him.</p><p>In the next instant, a steel toed boot smashed <em>hard</em> into Darevan's skull, and his reality burnt out.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He'd been robbed of his clothes, his pots of clay - and rather than dispose of his rosary, the jailers stripped the beads from its string and laughed when most of them rolled out of his reach beyond the bars.</p><p>The guards then scrubbed Darevan's face bare and forced him to look at himself naked in the mirror - before slamming his forehead hard into the sink. The blow was not enough to erase the sickening sight of a reflection he did not recognize, and his horrors were worsened by the thought that Caoimhe must be living through the same sort of hell.</p><p>Murdering a member of the Queen's guard was treason. Darevan knew his fate was sealed when her men bound his arms behind his back and didn't bother to return with food. Nobody committed treason against the crown and died quietly - it was only a matter of time before preparations for his slow and painful public execution were finalized.</p><p>But so long as the guards did not kill him, they could take out their stress on their prisoner. After days in captivity, Darevan had come to recognize the sound of each of their steps, to anticipate his suffering from the rhythm of their gait. Darevan stared stone-faced at the wall, listening hard to pin down who the approaching sound belonged to, trying to make out shadows through the low light.</p><p>Someone stopped at his cell door, but did not throw open the gates. Then the silhouette came into focus, and Darevan recognized the clothes the Prince had worn; though they fit more closely upon the frame that wore them now than they had at the ball several months ago.</p><p>It was Caoimhe. <em>No-</em> No, that wasn't right. Darevan knew now that 'Caoimhe' was never his name, no more than Shaman was his own. His true name was- The eldest male heir of Maeve was always meant to have been named-</p><p>"Liam?"</p><p>With a relieved gasp, Liam threw himself into the bars to look closer into the dark cell. Then his eyes widened almost imperceptibly in recognition before his gaze dropped to the floor, refusing to play a part in the humiliation of his friend. "It's alright," Darevan gently assured him. "You can look at me." Tentatively, Liam lifted his gaze, studying Darevan's face as his fingers fumbled with a key.</p><p>Then the lock fell away, and with it, Darevan's restraints - Liam ripped open the gate, falling into Darevan's open arms. Darevan squeezed him tightly; a gesture Liam desperately returned.</p><p>"They wouldn't let me leave my room. It took me days to- <em>I thought they killed you!</em>" Liam howled miserably, words muffled into Darevan's chest. He could feel Liam's wet eyelashes fluttering just above his heart as the boy breathed in short, restrained sobs. Before Darevan realized what he was doing, his hand brushed gently against the back of Liam's head, fingers kneading into his hair as he ran them gently through it.</p><p>"No, my friend. It would take a lot more than a few days without food to do me in."</p><p>At once, Liam shoved himself away from Darevan with both hands, staring into his eyes with an ice-cold expression that resembled his mother more than just in passing. The boy's fingers weaved tightly into the string that remained of the rosary around Darevan's neck, possessive and vengeful. <em>"I'll kill them,"</em> he announced flatly. <em>"I'll kill her!" </em></p><p>Darevan shook his head, brushing stray hairs from Liam's face and smoothing them behind his ears. "Mere revenge is not worth fighting for, Liam." Liam breathed out a shaking sigh of rage before he stilled, soothed, and remembered where he was.</p><p>Then the young prince curled his arms around Darevan's bicep and pulled, his slender stature powerless to drag a man Darevan's size to his feet, but determined nonetheless. "Let's go, Darevan."</p><p><em>"Wait-"</em> Darevan remained seated, resolute. Liam shook his head fiercely, gold hair whipping his chin, and pulled harder.</p><p>"We need to go - now. We don't have much time."</p><p>"Where are we going?"</p><p>His answer was frantic and improvised. "Anywhere is better than here!"</p><p>"You said you've never been able to leave-"</p><p><em>"Your power!"</em> Liam spat, breathless between sentences. "All of the locks in the castle are electronic. I know the layout- I have the map in my implant- together, just like we were planning-"</p><p>"-And what will we do after that?" Darevan interrupted gently to get to his point.</p><p>"Whatever we want!" Liam insisted, impatient. But Darevan knew it would not be so easy.</p><p>"<em>Liam, stop.</em> Listen to me."</p><p>Liam stopped tugging him, but remained crouched mid-gesture, anxious. Darevan looked to the open door, and then to Liam.</p><p>"I don't want you to go before you are ready for my sake." Liam opened his mouth to argue, but Darevan beat him to his question. "You'll <em>never</em> be able to come back here," he explained, and some shadow stirred from far away, a memory of a temple on a distant world where his family vanished from this universe. "Your family- your <em>brothers-</em> you will <em>never</em> see them again."</p><p>Liam glanced in the direction he came, staring into the void of the dark hallway with a detached indifference. Decisively, he turned back.</p><p>"My family isn't back there." Then he looked down at Darevan, his eyes wide - expression reluctantly, but unmistakably, soft.</p><p>Darevan slowly stretched out his hand. Liam took it in his without hesitation, his small fingers hardly able to reach across the width of Darevan's palm. They remained that way a quiet moment before Liam squeezed <em>hard</em> - and then he was pulling him down the hall, and together they ran and they never stopped running.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Darevan had been hesitant to allow Abraham into Xenolifer from the start, but Liam could not be convinced. Darevan could never truly trust a soldier of the Constellar Federation, reformed or not - but he saw the way that Liam looked at Abraham and knew, even after everything the two of them had been through, that he would not listen to him. Conversely, there was nothing Liam could ask that Darevan would deny him, with enough wearing down. Liam, the once starving, homeless prince. Liam, inspiring young hero of the uprising. Liam, just and fair tribunal judge. Liam, leader of Xenolifer. Liam the invincible, the immortal. His bright and shining son.</p><p>Darevan might not have agreed with the human genocide per se, but the principles of it no longer mattered. The fact of it was that Liam believed in it, and Darevan believed in Liam. And as he stared down the muzzle of Abraham's pistol, Xenolifer's last secret behind his teeth, he has already decided that this brute will not undo everything they had struggled towards together until now. Abraham certainly knew that no word but Liam's could break either of them - and not now or ever would the man make it in in time to stay Darevan's execution.</p><p>Darevan closed his eyes, anticipating Liam's grief as he came across his corpse, those deep blue eyes twisted in pain and anger - he wished he could reach him, tell him there was no need to mourn him.</p><p>They would be together again in one million million other lives...</p><p>Abraham's trigger finger stiffens, and he has made the worst of his millions of mistakes. Even before Darevan has realized he can no longer draw breath, that the heat from the pistol has already cauterized the hole in his throat and sealed his lungs from his mouth, humanity is doomed, and all of its history has come to one cold, dead stop.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THE END</p><p>Thank you so much for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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